Submitting to the Shadow (Kindred Tales)

Curious as to its contents, he opened it and saw a note printed in slashing, masculine handwriting.

Hey, Beautiful, where have you been lately? I’ve looked for you everywhere, but I can’t find you. I really miss you—I’m hoping you come home soon so we can go on that date I’ve been promising you.

The note wasn’t signed, but Roark could guess that it must have been left there by an old lover—or maybe a new one, who was eager to have Samantha to himself.

Though he knew he had no right to be possessive, he couldn’t help the surge of jealousy that rushed through him. Crumpling the note in his fist, he went to find Samantha, who was putting the last of a series of delicate knick knacks in a large cardboard box.

She was dressed in the blue denim trousers humans called “jeans” and a mint green t-shirt that day, which brought out her green eyes. The points of her nipples were clear underneath it. Roark had removed the nipple caps that morning before they left for Earth, deciding that the feeling of the soft t-shirt material rubbing against her sensitive peaks would be stimulating enough. He had kept the clit shield on though because he liked stimulating her when she least expected it. Her long strawberry blonde hair was put up in a messy bun at the back of her neck and there was a smudge of dust on her forehead.

The picture she painted was one of endearing domesticity, which only made Roark angrier because it represented everything he had ever wanted…and could never have.

She was holding a little china doll in one hand when he stalked up to her.

“Do you care to explain this?” he barked, uncrumpling the paper and thrusting it out to her. “I found it on the counter of your food prep area.”

Samantha’s green eyes widened as she read the note. The china doll dropped from her hand and the head of it shattered against the hardwood floor.

“Oh my God,” she whispered unsteadily. “You say you found it on the kitchen counter?”

“Yes, I did.” Roark glared at her. “You told me you were ‘single’ when I offered you the job as my assistant. Did you lie to me, Samantha?”

“No…no!” She shook her head wildly. “This is just…” She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Look, never mind about this. It’s over now, okay?”

“How long has it been ‘over’ though?” Roark demanded. “Was this person—this male—still in contact with you after I hired you?”

“No, okay?” Samantha snapped. She ran a hand though her hair distractedly and half of it came down from the loose bun it was in, making her look messy and stressed. “He couldn’t find me once I left for the Mother Ship and I hope to never have to deal with him again!’

Turning on her heel, she left the room, the soles of her little white sneakers crunching on the shattered fragments of the delicate china doll’s head.

Twenty-Eight

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God…

Sammi paced around the room which had once been her bedroom, feeling sick to her stomach. So he had broken in again—her anonymous stalker had been in her house sometime after she had left for the Mother Ship. And he had left her another one of his little “love notes.”

As always, the thought of a stranger who meant her harm standing in the place where she lived—or where she used to live anyway—made her feel cold and frightened.

She—

All at once the door slammed open and Roark stalked in. His pale eyes were fierce and he somehow seemed even bigger and more muscular than usual.

“Samantha, I don’t care who this other male is,” he announced, glaring down at her. “He cannot have you—you’re mine.”

“What?” Sammi’s heart started pounding for a different reason. Was Roark finally going to Claim her? Was he going to demand that she join with him, the way Berik had told Meg they had to be together because he was addicted to her and needed to taste her every day?

“I said, you’re mine,” Roark repeated. “I need you for…for my experiment. For my research.”

“Oh…” Sammi’s heart plummeted. “For your research. Right.”

“Speaking of which, let’s see how ready you are for your ride in the inseminator.”

Roark crossed the room in two long strides and ripped up her shirt.

“Hey!” Sammi gasped as he examined her nipples which were tight and pink from rubbing against her t-shirt all day. “I don’t think—”

“Mine,” Roark breathed again and then he was kissing her—kissing her deeply and possessively as he gently cupped the curve of one breast through the black straps of the breast harness. Despite his fiery kiss, the way he touched her was tender—almost reverent—and it melted something deep inside Sammi.

She found she was pressing against him and kissing him back, opening her mouth to welcome him in.